The Darkest of Nights
by DragonRider122
Summary: "Sometimes Gibbs wonders how Ziva can stand to be in his basement after what happened all those years ago. He never asks, never even considers doing so, but whenever she is there he watches her carefully, scrutinizing her face for any sign of discomfort, grief or anger—anything. But he never sees it. Not until tonight." Rated for language.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Don't own NCIS. If I did, ***FINALE SPOILER ALERT!*** Ducky would NOT have had a heart attack! T_T If he dies, I seriously might quit watching.**

***ahem* Anyways, I honestly don't know what prompted this piece except that I miss writing NCIS and I have a huge soft spot for Gibbs/Ziva family love.**

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Sometimes Gibbs wonders how Ziva can stand to be in his basement after what happened all those years ago. He never asks, never even considers doing so, but whenever she is there he watches her carefully, scrutinizing her face for any sign of discomfort, grief or anger—anything. But he never sees it.

Not until tonight.

Ziva's wounds—on the outside, at least—have healed and gone, and physically there is no mark to show what she endured in Somalia over the summer. But lately she has been showing up at all hours of the night and early morning, trembling with a fear she either cannot or will not express. Gibbs doesn't say a word and simply lets her do whatever she needs, whether it is sitting in silence watching him work on the boat, talking about absolutely anything she can think of to stave off her dark dreams or even asking him about his days in the Marines. Occasionally, if she's seeming especially frightened or shaky, he'll tell her a story from his probie days, usually involving a mishap of some sort, and silently claims a victory whenever a small smile scurries across her lips.

Tonight seems to be no different at first. Ziva comes tramping down the basement steps at approximately half-past two in the morning. She is barefoot in a tank top and sweatpants, clearly having rolled out of bed after the latest night terror. Gibbs feels the familiar burn of anger and wishes, for the umpteenth time, that he could go back and shoot Saleem another three or four rounds. But, in true Leroy Jethro Gibbs fashion, he betrays none of his fury, simply greeting her with an unaffected hello and going back to the rib he is currently sanding. He hears soft sounds of Ziva moving about but doesn't think much of it; movement calms her, a trait they both share, and for the fleetest of heartbeats something along the lines of 'Like father like daughter' echoes in the back of his skull.

"I would be afraid to be alone at night."

Normally when she speaks he does little more than listen, but there is something about her words that catches his concern, and so he turns. Something very like guilt boils in Gibbs' stomach as he is presented with the image of Ziva sitting cross-legged on his floor, gently brushing the concrete with her fingers as through stroking the face of a loved one. There is the faintest of stains on the spot she touches. She doesn't look up, curly hair obscuring her face as the words keep flowing. "I know nothing frightens you, nothing that will befall you, anyways, but..if it was me…" Her free hand, the one resting on her knee, curls into a fist. "I don't think I could be here by myself after dark. I would always remember…"

There is the tiniest of catches in her voice, and that's when Gibbs thinks that maybe, just maybe, tonight will have some walls crashing down. He sets down his sandpaper and goes over to sit next to her, close enough that he can touch her if needed but far enough away so she knows he wants to respect her space. "I think about it sometimes," he replies, and it's a mark of how close they are that there is no shame or trepidation in the admittance. "But it never scares me, because you didn't let it."

Her breath hitches, nails digging into the cloth covering her kneecap. "There is something I must ask you, Gibbs, and I need you to be honest with me."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Ziver," he says quietly, and a small tremor wracks the young woman's body as she looks up for the first time. He isn't prepared for the look on her face; it's sad and scared and desperate, and this isn't a trained Mossad officer; hell, this isn't even an NCIS agent. This is a frightened little girl.

"Am I a monster?" Ziva's voice cracks with tears as a single droplet streaks down her face. "I murdered my own brother—and I lied to you about it! I know, I know," she rushes as Gibbs begins to remind her that she was forgiven for that, "you don't blame me anymore, but I….Gibbs, I…" She shakes her head blindly and presses her palm to the stain on his floor. "This is on my hands, Gibbs, and…"—One of her nails taps a spot—"…this is where my bullet went. My bullet, Gibbs—mine!" She leaps up and begins to pace, looking like a caged lion as her hands dig into her thick mane. "He trusted me, he thought I would rather die than turn on him—and I did! Saleem…"

She falters here, agony replaced by terror, and this time Gibbs has no anger as he too rises to his feet. He knows Ziva needs to finish, get this all out of her system, but he needs to be ready if it looks like she'll hurt herself. "Saleem knew what I did—don't ask me how, I don't know." Her head swings to the side and back again, sharper than before, as her body turns away so that all he can see is her back. "He told me that….that people call him a monster…but he never…" Ziva mumbles something in Arabic, a broken whisper, and although Gibbs doesn't understand, he instinctively knows what the words mean. _I do not turn on my own flesh and blood._

There is silence; a long, heavy silence. Gibbs is a patient man, but not right now; every muscle in his body is tense, begging her to break it, because something inside of him is saying that the consequences will be disastrous if he does so instead. Finally, just when he can stand it no longer, she faces him again. Her eyes are dry, dry and dull, and this frightens him far more than tears ever could. "He was right, wasn't he," Ziva says flatly. "I am a monster."

Gibbs says nothing. There are words he could say, oh so very many words; but words are hollow and empty when confronted with raw emotion. He of all people knows this. So instead he looks past the Ziva he knows; past the skilled knife-thrower and sharpshooter, past the warrior and team member and even the person who saved his life. He looks past all of this, and what gazes back at him is a young woman—a girl, really—who has accepted a label pressed on her by a mind more cruel and vicious than any that had a right to exist in this world, because she believes him. She believes his lie; but more than that, in her eyes the man she shot was not Ari Haswari, whose file still sits someplace in the archives of NCIS. The man Ziva put a bullet in was her friend, her childhood companion; her mentor and protector and the only one who was there for her when she needed him. Her brother. Gibbs will look at the floor and think of a vicious terrorist who murdered Kate. To Ziva, he is anything—everything—except that man.

Gibbs says nothing because there is nothing to be said—not verbally. Instead he takes a step forward and pulls her into a hug. It's amazing how, if he lets himself, he can pretend it's Kelly in his arms again—but Ziva is not Kelly, she never can be and Gibbs does not want her to be. But he does remember how he held Kelly when she needed him: Tight and close and warm, gently sliding a hand over her hair as the other just as softly rubs her back. Ziva makes no noise, but a moment later he feels his shirt getting damp. Turning his head slightly, he murmurs into her ear, "If you were a monster, Ziver, then what happened wouldn't bother you. You wouldn't feel anything. This—what's happening right now—this is proof that Saleem is a goddamn liar and you need to quit believing whatever bullshit he told you."

Ziva's body trembles, then begins to shake violently as the first sob catapults itself from her throat. Her legs give out, and she sinks to the floor in Gibbs' arms, her tears falling onto his chest. He simply holds his daughter until, finally, she is quiet and still against him as the first rays of dawn shine through the windows.

There is a long way to go; Gibbs knows that. There are still wounds and scars that nobody has seen yet. But as Ziva pulls back, there is a faint spark in her eye—slightly, but definitely there—and he knows then beyond all doubt that she's going to be okay.

He can't help but smile ever so slightly. _That's my girl._

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**Ziva is a very strong, capable person, but I really believe she's got some serious emotional scarring that we haven't really seen all that much.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Still don't own NCIS. Damn it all.**

**I was originally planning for this to be just a oneshot, but I got so many follows that I kind of felt bad for not planning to continue. So I decided to write another chapter. n_n**

**This focuses more on Ziva and Abby than Ziva and Gibbs, so I apologize if you were looking for more of that, but Gibbs will make an appearance later on.**

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This is the first time Ziva can remember that the entire team is crashed in one place. Except for McGee; the Elf Lord was being kept overnight in the hospital with a concussion. That, of course, meant Abby was nearly hysterical on top of the news that Ducky had suffered a heart attack. Ziva couldn't quite keep a cold shiver of dread from crawling down her spine as she thought of how lucky the old medical examiner was to be alive. They were all lucky, really.

Gibbs is downstairs in his basement, to nobody's surprise, meaning that Abby is currently sleeping in his bed. After their team leader told them there was one extra bedroom in the back of the house, Ziva offered to take the couch but was shouted down by Tony. Normally Ziva would have said to hell with it and slept on the sofa whether Tony liked it or not, but there had been something almost painful about the way her partner insisted and so she gave up without much of a fight. It was nothing short of miraculous that both of them escaped so intact after being trapped in the elevator when the bomb blew; Tony had suffered a nasty shrapnel wound on one arm and Ziva's ribs were extremely tender, but it could have been—should have been—so much worse.

Her door creaks slightly, and she is instantly on alert, revolver in her hand and barrel aimed toward the noise. "Who's there?" she growls, alarm and leftover shock winding her voice to a slightly higher pitch than it normally is.

"Ziva?" Abby's voice quavers, and the ex-assassin sighs, unfolding her fingers from the gun butt and slipping it back underneath her pillow.

"Come in, Abby," she says quietly, somehow very unsurprised that the Goth girl has approached her. "You couldn't sleep either." It wasn't a question.

Her friend steps into the room, black hair loose around her shoulders as she clutches Burt to her chest. Clad only in an oversized T-shirt, Abby is shivering slightly, making her way over to Ziva's bed and seating herself on the edge. She bites her lip, looking for all the world like a frightened child, and Ziva finds, to her slight surprise, that she can't resist setting a hand on the other woman's. "It's all right, Abby," she soothes. "We're all alive." _We're all fine_, she wants to say, but it would be a lie if she did. Ducky may never be able to walk without assistance again and there is a chance, slim but there, that McGee may be injured worse than they expected. Not to mention the emotional toll of the bomb, and then there was the fact that the office—their home, in a way—was gone…

_Stop that._ Ziva firmly gives her head an abrupt shake. Thinking that way wouldn't help anything, especially not Abby. She looks up in time to see the forensic scientist burying her face into Burt and hears her mumble something unintelligible. "Abby, I can't hear you."

Abby turns her head so that her mouth is free. "But you—all of us—we could be dead….a-and you and Tony….you should be…." A sob shakes her shoulders. "And then Ducky had a heart attack, oh my God, and McGee; he could have a cranial hemorrhage or he could get amnesia or brain damage or—"

"Enough!" Ziva snaps, harsher than she meant to, and Abby falls silent with another wrenching sob. Ziva is reminded of the time Lt. Corporal Worth attacked them in the rehab facility and Abby went crazy upon seeing the bruise on Ziva's forehead and eye. The Israeli forces herself to soften, gingerly rubbing her thumb over Abby's knuckles. "You can't think that way, Abby. It will drive you crazy—believe me, I know. McGee is being kept because it's safer that way, and he will most likely be let go tomorrow. Ducky…" And here her voice catches, because the man has been a combination of father and uncle to her and she fears for him almost as much as she once did for Gibbs after the explosion. "Ducky is alive. He may be crippled, but Abby, he is _alive_." Something new occurs to her then, something so ugly her breath slips out of her in a painful whoosh: Ducky may not be able to go back to work. Many people retire, of course; she knows this, but he loves his job so much and if he can't go back, can't be there every day—be with them…!

Abby leans forward and wraps Ziva in her arms, forehead pressed against the shorter woman's shoulder. "I know," she says softly, voice shaking, and Ziva is aware she has thought of this too. Suddenly needing the contact, Ziva brings her own arms around and hugs Abby hard, jaw clenched in an effort to control the sudden wetness in her eyes. It doesn't work.

"Ziva?" Abby's voice breaks the silence a lifetime later. "I know after Director Shepard died I told you guys things I liked about you, but…it doesn't seem enough now, you know?"

Ziva feels as though someone has punched her in the gut at the mention of Jenny, and it takes her a moment to breathe again. "I don't follow."

"Well, I…I feel like I should tell you more meaningful things. Tell you that I'm sorry, for one thing. I'm sorry I hated you at first, because Kate wasn't your fault—at all. I was being stupid. And I'm glad we're friends now because you're a great person, all tough and kick-ass—but you're not emotionless either, and I'm sorry for that too, by the way, because that's an awful thing to say to someone, especially a good friend, and I'm really glad you trust us now…"

"Abby." Ziva doesn't snap this time, but the word is just forceful enough to cause Abby to quit talking, a sheepish smile on her face.

"Sorry. I kind of get going sometimes…" Abby somewhat guiltily flicks her eyes up to Ziva's, and the Israeli can't stifle a smile.

"No, it was…nice. Thank you. I…I'm glad we are friends as well." There is more she wants to say, a lot more, but emotional confessions like this really aren't her thing, and already her throat is starting to close. So Ziva simply settles for giving Abby a kiss on the forehead, remembering how she had once done it for Tali eons ago. Abby beams and snuggles closer; she gets the message. "Abby?"

"Yup?"

"…..would you like to stay here the rest of the night?"

Ziva has slept with many men and more than a few women, but this is the first time she truly understands why people enjoy "snuggling" so much. It'll be worth whatever Tony says in the morning, because for the first time since Somalia she really, truly feels safe.

It's…nice.


End file.
